Steaming
by ArmedWithAPen
Summary: The night plagues a Jedi Master's mind with thoughts concerning Dooku's dark acolyte. Obi-Wan/Ventress. One-shot.


_A/N: This was the first Star Wars fic I ever wrote. Inspired in part by the lovely shower, as well as the Sarah McLachlan song of the same title. Enjoy!  
_

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This was a dream. It had to be. Because, under no condition, would this actually happen in real life.

Obi Wan was in the shower. He was just minding his own business, washing with soap, suds in his hair.

The water was very warm, close to the point of scalding hot. But for some reason, it was just right. It fell against his skin like crystal drops, vanishing after a few minutes, rising into steam. A cloud of mist surrounded him.

Suddenly, there was a blast of cold air. It would have been very unpleasant if it hadn't been for the cause of the sudden draft.

Ventress was there. She had yanked the curtain away and now stood there, her ash gray eyes burning.

"Ventress!" He tried to reach desperately for something to cover his nakedness. But for some reason, he knew that nothing would be there for him to take. He also had some part of him that realized that he had been expecting this.

She was dressed in only a red towel that just barely covered the length of her torso. Her arm was outstretched, the steam from the shower condensing on it like the ember pale skin was studded with a million tiny diamonds. She held back the curtain. Her muscles curved along the length of her forearm and her shoulder.

The Jedi was vaguely aware that he was stuttering protests. It was as though he had disconnected and his body was acting of its own accord. He felt a hot, bubbling feeling steal down his wet chest, down the length of his legs and to his toes.

If she could hear his barely whispered exclamations, she didn't show it. The assassin gracefully slipped inside the shower, letting the curtain close softly behind her, shutting out the rest of the world.

Now, it was only them, and the sound of the hot droplets hitting the plastic tub.

He backed away. For some reason, she frightened him. She held no lightsaber, and he was not afraid of the deceptively lean muscles that could snap his neck if she wanted so. He was afraid of the burning light in her eyes.

Because that light was threatening to catch him on fire.

"Ventress," he whispered, pressing his wet back against the unpleasantly cold tile of the wall. "What are you…"

She pressed a long pale finger to his lips, silencing them. The shower's setting had shifted now from a drizzle to a pounding pulse of water that mimicked the beat of his palpitating heart.

She moved close, too close, too close for him to expect to maintain any kind of self control. She pressed her angles, her curves against his chest, his abdomen, his legs. She surrounded him.

He found himself slipping. Not physically slipping in the tub. She was dragging him down into a bottomless black abyss. He clawed for handholds, but there were none to be found.

She moved her pale, shaved head, water rolling off of it like a sheet of glass, so close to his that he could feel her breath puff against the skin of his lips. Her smell invaded his mind, the smell of something unbelievably sweet and tangy; it could have been blood, it could have been sweat, and it could have been the sharp smell of ozone that accompanied a drawn lightsaber. But most of all, she smelled like heaven.

And then he realized that he didn't want to fight. He wanted quite the opposite.

The water was beating a tattoo in his right shoulder as the pulses grew faster and faster. His face was hot, but from rushing blood instead of the heat of the water.

And the assassin traced her hands up his bare chest. She was cold, pleasantly cold against the steaming scalding water. The lines her fingers traced left streaks of ice against his skin.

She wrapped her cool, healing arms around his neck, entwining them together, melding them into one. He had no idea what he was doing, but obviously she did.

The cool body of the girl and the cold wall of the shower were on either side of him, but the scalding water of the shower continued to hammer on him. He was still unquenchably hot.

He still fought. The abyss' darkness was engulfing him, but he was not quite ready to let go. He tried one last valiant time to remain.

"Ventress…" Barely a whisper. A feeble, reluctant attempt to regain control.

She laughed, a breathy chuckle that made him tremble all over. She leaned down so close that her lips brushed against his as she spoke. "Be like your Padawan for half a minute. Break all the rules."

Her breath was ensnaring his senses. She smiled once more; he could feel his own breath becoming ragged, reflecting off her tantalizing red lips. "Well, I say for half a minute. I would prefer it to be…quite a bit longer, my dear Obi Wan."

The way she said the name snapped his resolve like a feeble twig. She caressed, smoothed it; it rolled off her tongue so naturally he was sure the name had been made for her.

Then, before she had even finished the end of the name, she crashed into him. Her lips collided with his, aggressively, passionately. She wanted this, he realized. Almost as much as he wanted this.

His mind still struggled violently against the emotions roaring through his soul like a tidal wave. But his body pushed the conscience to the backseat. This felt so right. It couldn't possibly be wrong.

He allowed his hands to roam her body, tracing the red swirls of ink on her skin. She was inside him, around him. He could feel the pulse of her heart, hammering inside his chest even though it was most definitely settled inside her torso.

The towel fell away from her body. She flinched, but only once. Then, once more, she was everywhere.

The assassin hitched her leg around his torso, clenched her arms around his shoulder blades, her hands twisting and twining above his head in some kind of elaborate dance. Her lips had parted his and her tongue had invaded his mouth. She tasted like a mix of smoke and wood; she was fire.

He tingled in all the wrong places. She was tearing him apart at the seams, ripping his self control to pieces and then scattering them to the air. He yanked at her, clutched at her, his throbbing pulse growing more and more impatient. It wanted her now.

She gasped into his mouth, turning the fire hotter. She bit his lip and he groaned. It would not leave him alone. She had lit him up; he was the fire, inside and out. She grinned against his lips, as though she knew what she had done to him and still had yet to do to him.

Suddenly, there was another burst of cold air.

Anakin had yanked back the curtain. Ventress' body had suddenly vanished. Obi Wan was suddenly alone; it was only him, hot and cold, wet and naked, and stunned at the sudden interruption. His mind was catching up to the rest of him.

"Master, are you alright?"

Anakin's voice was bringing him back. He was clawing his way out of the comfortable blackness. But he didn't want to be.

Obi Wan felt himself waking. He didn't want to wake. He wanted to be back in that shower, kick Anakin in the face, and feel cool, pale skin back in his arms once more.

But he was forced to open his eyes. He was in his room, in his bed, and his Padawan of a roommate was staring at him with gaping mouth.

"Master?"

The Jedi groggily sat up. His sheets were tangled and he was drenched in a cold sweat. Remnants of tingles continued to spiral down his skin. Where was he?

"Anakin?" His words were slurred like he had had too much to drink. "What's the matter?"

The young man was still staring at his master. The sky outside was dark, which meant that it was still night. "You were rolling around in your bed moaning. You okay?"

The dream was still fresh on his mind. The master blushed when he remembered the way it had felt so good at the time. He was ashamed of it now.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Anakin," Obi Wan apologized. "I had a strange dream."

He rolled back over, straightening out the sheets as best he could. "Go back to sleep."

There was a pause of silence as his Padawan digested this, and worked it out in his mind. Then a ruffle of sheets and after only a few minutes more, the sound of steady breathing.

But Obi Wan slept no more that night. Half in fear that more dreams would plague him and half in fear that they wouldn't.

And the next morning, poor Ventress was quite confused when she and her forces stormed the ship. Master Kenobi caught sight of her once, reddened, and fled in the opposite direction, leaving an equally confused Mace Windu with a hasty excuse and a legion of superbattle droids.

FIN

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_A/N: Like it? Hate it? Scratching your eyes out with a sharp stick? My apologies. Click the little hyperlink below, and tell me how much I need to improve. _


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